


Operation Twilight

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Short Stories! [69]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcoholic Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dangerous Winter Soldier, Depressed Tony Stark, First Meetings, Grieving Tony Stark, M/M, Past Brainwashing, Pre Relationship, Pre-Iron Man 1, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony dealing with his parents death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, ambiguous ending, winteriron, working through trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: What would have happened if the Winter Soldier had slipped his conditioning Pre IM1 instead of CATWS? What if Tony Stark was the last piece of an Operation Twilight that had been started in 1991-- and needed finished before the Jericho Missiles were showcased in Afghanistan?And what if when a slipping/confused WS shows up at Tony's Malibu house, he didn't complete his mission? What if a depressed Tony lost in the every-year-at-Christmas grief over losing his parents decides to let the scary stranger in his bedroom just stay because for once, it's nice not to be lonely?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Short Stories! [69]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/786345
Comments: 76
Kudos: 450
Collections: Winteriron all the time, interesting tony





	1. Tony

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Remember "Lost and Found" where an IM2 Tony found a homeless!WS who only knew his name was James and they fell in love and met Steve and all that? Well that fic started off VERY differently, ended up getting scrapped in favor of what became the finished fic. 
> 
> Fortunately, I hate to let a story idea go so here is a sneak peek at exactly how that OG draft went... and since my story's always get out of control, this may very well turn into the first few chapters of what might be a monster fic. 
> 
> Stay tuned!

**TW for Tony-typical depression/alcoholism pertaining to his parents/the holiday season.**

“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring ting a tingling too.” 

It should be a federal offense to play Christmas music at a holiday party that took place before December 1st. An actual _federal_ offense. Should be against the law to force a man into a tuxedo, then give him only fancy appetizers for hours instead of real food, _then_ enact mandatory small talk and way too much alcohol _and_ top it all off with Christmas music. 

_Fuck_. 

“...c;mon it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride…” Tony wasn’t sure if he was actually hearing Christmas music still, or if he was just drunk enough to be singing it unprompted, but the slightly annoying and so damnably _catchy_ tune kept spilling out as he struggled to see straight enough to put a key in the lock of his house. 

“...t’gether with you… Wait.” Tony shook his head, stumbled back a few steps and nearly pitched over the railing of the walk-up, stumbled a few steps forward and shook his head again. “Wait, this is my car key. My--my house doesn’t have a key. I’m too high tech for that. JARVIS?! I tried to open the door with my car key again!” 

The front door whirred quietly then clicked open, and Tony lurched for the handle and missed, lurched for the handle and fell right through onto the shockingly expensive and predictably _uncomfortable_ tiles of the foyer. 

“Fuck.” Tony lay there sprawled on the cold tile until the world stopped spinning so fast. Not stopped spinning all the way of course, he’d drank _way_ too much for that to happen. But not so fast was a good compromise. Not so fast meant he could fumble at a bow tie that was basically strangling at him, meant Tony could tear at the millions of buttons on his fancy shirt and plink them all over the floor, meant he could breathe and maybe stop singing a goddamn Christmas song on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. 

“Just hear those sleigh bells ringing-- god _dammit_.” Tony groaned out loud and rolled over onto his side, then all fours and somehow got to his feet, stumbling and staggering his way down the hall to the bedroom. “I hate the holidays. Fucking cheery music and too much tinsel and--and--” 

He wavered at the bedroom door, slumped against the door jam and ran both hands over his face. “God, don’t people know only bad things happen in December? Christmas has been shitty since--since--” _always_. “--since ‘91 and all the vodka in the world isn’t going to change--” 

Belatedly, Tony realized something was _wrong_ in his house, his alcohol and grief soaked brain clicking into gear painfully slowly as he tried to take stock of the situation. 

_Two_ things were wrong specifically, _two_ things that made Tony first confused and then a little terrified. 

First, JARVIS hadn’t spoke once since he entered the house, not to comment on his clearly intoxicated state or the way Tony's mental health always took a dive this time of year and perhaps Sir would _please_ call the counselor Pepper suggested before things got worse? The AI hadn’t guided him down the hall or pre-emptively opened the door to the bathroom as a not subtle suggestion that Tony hurl in the toilet and not on the carpet, there wasn’t even the tell-tale _click_ of JARVIS’s cameras that recorded every one of Tony’s steps through the different room. Nothing. JARVIS was silent and JARVIS had never been silent so that was terrifying. 

And second-- _second_ \-- there was someone sitting on Tony’s bed. 

“JARVIS?” Tony wiped at his mouth and squinted at the shadowy form, working through the haze of liquid Christmas cheer to clock a big frame, covert combat style clothing, some shiny hardware down the left hand side and ho-ho-holy _shit_ the guy was holding a very big knife, that was a very big knife. 

“JARVIS?” he asked again. “What uh--” a vague gesture towards the form. “--What the fuck.” 

The screen on the wall read out neat letters for the AI’s response: _I detected no danger._

“JARVIS, the guy is holding a knife!” Tony cried, but the AI was silent, the screen blanket. 

“Alright, alright.” Tony blew out a deep breath, grimaced over the smell of what was definitely peppermint schnapps and jabbed a finger at the intruder. “Alright, who the hell are you?” 

“I… don’t know?” The voice that answered was low, raspy, scratchy like the guy hadn’t talked in a long time and _boy howdy_ wasn’t it just Tony’s luck he was drunk enough to be turned on by it? 

“You don’t know.” It was almost embarrassingly difficult to squash the immediately innuendo-ish suggestion that the guy had come by for some holiday season nookie, but hey, Tony was _very_ drunk and he was _very_ alone and tall dark and stabby had a voice that sounded like it would be great crooning in Tony’s ear so….

“You don’t know who you are.” Tony nodded, pursed his lips. “Fantastic. What the hell are you doing here, then?” 

“I…” the stranger hesitated, and Tony’s stomach did something odd and clenchy when he heard the misery in the next words, “... I don’t know that either.” 

“Great. That’s-- that’s great. This is like a soap opera. I’m drunk and you’re hot and--” Tony made another gesture towards the bed. “Stuck with a case of day-time television style amnesia and the complete inability to carry on a conversation. That’s just-- just great. JARVIS?” 

The read out on the wall blinked: _I detect no danger, Sir._

“Of course you didn’t.” 

“You’re Stark.” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a _statement_ , low and pointed and almost dangerous in it’s intent and Tony straightened up with an uncomfortable swallow, folded his arms and nodded, “That’s what it says on the mailbox.” 

“I don’t know who you are.” the intruder shook his head, and Tony caught a flash of pale blue eyes before dark hair fell to cover them. “But your name means something to me, so here I am. Don’t know why. Don’t know who you are or what you mean to me, but I’m supposed to be here.” 

“H-Holding a knife?” 

“Um.” In a split second of behavior that was almost _human_ , the guy held up the knife and blinked at it uncertainly. “Oh. Sorry.” 

The knife disappeared and the panic clawing at Tony’s throat lessened just a little bit. “Hey, that’s better. Thanks. Feeling less like I’m gonna be murdered wearing the world’s most uncomfortable clothes. Least you could do is kill me in my jammies, I’d like to make it to hell wearing an ACDC shirt, feel like that might score me some point with the big guy.” 

“You going to hell, Stark?” It was almost a smile curving the edge of the intruder’s mouth and Tony had a brief, alcohol fueled thought of ‘ _what’s up, hot lips?_ ’ before answering, “Someone called me Merchant of Death tonight. Feel like I’m already half way down that highway.” 

“The highway?” 

“To hell? 

“...alright.” 

Silence, because Tony’s joke--that wasn’t a joke at all but a reflection on just how badly that reporters words had cut down to his _soul_ \-- had fallen flat, and for a few minutes they were just quiet in the dark of the bedroom. 

Then finally-- “You uh--” Tony scratched at his chin wearily. “You got a name? Or should I just call you Stabby McGee?” 

The man seemed to fold in on himself a little bit, and Tony’s stomach did that sympathetic clench thing again. 

“I think--” slowly, almost painful. “I think I’m called Winter.” 

“Winter.” Tony repeated. “Because of your icy demeanor? Your frosty tone of voice? The way your eyes are all glacial blue and sort of unfairly intensely pretty? What’s with the seasonal moniker?” 

Another one of those almost smiles. “You’re funny.” 

“I’m not funny, I’m drunk.” Tony ran a hand over his previously perfectly gelled hair and groaned quietly. “And on that note, I’m exactly drunk enough to fall asleep right now even if there’s a stranger in my room. J? Still on the detecting no danger thing?” 

On the screen: _Yes_. 

“Alright.” Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, move over.” 

“...what?” 

“I’m gonna fall asleep and you’re in my spot.” Tony kicked out of his shoes, loosened the top clasp of his pants and shrugged out of his fancy shirt. “Either get off my bed or move over and make room so I can lay down.” 

The guy-- _Winter_ \-- blinked at Tony in full confusion, then slowly and awkwardly scooted his entire combat suit-ed out self over on the bed until there was room for Tony on the blankets. 

“Thanks.” Tony fell backwards onto the bed, huffed out a pained breath when he hit the pillows and then threw his arm over his eyes to block even the littlest bit of light as a migraine started pounding at his temples. “You know what the worst thing is? You aren’t even the weirdest person I’ve spent the night with. Eight years ago at the millennium New Years Eve, I tried to hook up with a botanist who cultivated exploding ficus plants. One went off in the hotel room. Best part was, it didn’t even faze her. _Exploding_ ficus plants. She didn’t even blink. She was fun. Super smart, definitely going to end up as a super villain, but fun.” 

The only answer was the creak and shift of what sounded like metal joints, and Tony had a brief flash of clarity-- the silver at Winter’s side was most likely a prosthesis-- before ‘ _Sleigh Ride_ ’ started going through his head again. 

_Mama loved that song._

“Goddamnit.” He forced out a loud breath and tried to pretend he wasn’t going to cry, Tony was so tired of missing his Mom during the holidays. “I hate this time of year.” 

*************

The next morning Tony was barely awake enough to manage a cup of coffee. Thank the big guy in the sky for automation and quite a bit of his own genius because at least his coffee machine was preprogrammed to start pouring the second he set foot in the kitchen. 

There wasn’t any creamer in the fridge but that was Tony’s fault-- Pepper had _tried_ to stock it with appropriately holiday themed variations and Tony had used them as skeet-shooting targets the last time Rhodey had dropped by. 

Who the hell needed Pumpkin Spice and Peppermint Chocolate when Christmas was the absolute worst time of the year? Who needed Eggnog when rum got the evening drink job done with the added benefit of making sure Tony wasn’t coherent enough to think, much less grieve. 

Black coffee it was this morning, scalding hot and bitter enough to about curl his toes and Tony was sure he burnt every one of his taste buds right off with that first quick gulp. 

Oh well. The only thing he tasted this time of year was alcohol so no harm no-- “ _ACK_!” 

\-- Tony screeched in alarm when he turned for a quick refill and found Big and Brunette and fucking _scary_ standing too close to his space. The soldier-most-likely-assassin didn’t so much as blink when Tony shrieked, didn’t flinch when boiling hot coffee splashed all over his shirt and a ceramic mug shattered at his feet as Tony’s fight or flight instinct kicked in and had him pitching the drink like a rock towards the unexpected presence in the kitchen. 

“What the fuck!” Tony shouted, put a hand to his chest like _this_ might be the time his heart would actually stop, like being scared in his own damn kitchen would be the thing to kill him instead of all the liquor he kept pumping into his liver. “Christ! What-- what--!?” 

He forced out a deep breath, banged his palm on the counter a few times and tried to reel the panic back in. “Hey. Yeah, okay super scary Snowflake, let’s talk about how we don’t sneak up on people in their own home, huh? You trying to kill me?” 

And then almost immediately, “Please god tell me you didn’t sleep next to me all night with a goddamn knife only to kill me over morning coffee. I don’t want to die in jammie pants-- I mean, I do, but not these ones. These aren’t even mine, they’re Rhodey’s and he would be so _mad_ if I got buried in them.” 

Winter was very still for a long moment, then slowly wiped away drops of coffee from his face and asked, “You would be buried in your Rhodey’s jammie pants?” 

“Oh.” Tony looked down at the ultra fuzzy polka dot pants. “Yeah it’s this-- it’s this Vegas thing. He lost a bet, I bought the pants, he’s supposed to wear them but I keep stealing them… it's a whole thing. Please don’t kill me in my Rhodey’s jammie pants.” 

Winter didn’t answer and Tony darted his eyes ceiling-ward, “J?” 

_“I have detected no danger, sir._ ” 

“Couldn’t have warned me Jack Frost was sneaking up?” 

_“To be fair, sir, Mr. Winter approached you from the front you were simply staring into your coffee cup with the sort of intensity you usually reserve for your work projects.”_

“He’s right.” Winter almost sounded like he wanted to laugh and Tony didn’t know if that pissed him off or made him want to laugh too. “I came towards you with full visibility, but you turned away at the last minute.” 

“Alright, well consider this your warning.” Tony grabbed another coffee mug and poured it full, tossing it back in a few swallows. “You keep sneaking up on me and I will attach _bells_ to your big ass alright? Like a damn cat. Try sneaking up on me wearing jingle bells.” 

Winter’s expression didn’t so much as flicker and Tony sighed, tossed a rag at his unexpected houseguest. “So what. You’re just here now? Just gonna stick around and lurk while I’m drinking coffee?” 

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

“Nope, of course you don’t.” Another refill, another few swallows and Tony nodded decisively. “You know what, my life is weird enough, I guess this might as well happen too. You won’t be my weirdest roommate ever so uh-- welcome to Malibu, Winter. I’ll be sure to keep the AC up so you don’t melt.” 

Apparently two full cups and a _thrown_ cup of coffee weren’t going to do it this morning, so Tony went for another, and so focused on his java, he missed what was almost a smile from the rather serious stranger. 

“This is fine.” Tony pulled down a second cup and filled it for Winter, because his Mama would roll over in her--

\--nope, can’t think about that. Not this time of year. Not now. 

\-- his Auntie Peggy would jump up from the nursing home and beat him with that walking stick that also held a freaking scary saber if she found out he hadn’t offered his guest a beverage. 

Never mind that said ‘ _guest_ ’ was decked out in what could only be black ops gear, sporting a metal prosthesis that looked like a Terminator reject and had a Russian accent thick enough to chew. 

Never mind that said ‘ _guest_ ’ had the sort of lost look in his eyes that Tony saw when he stared in the mirror for too long after a too late night and too much to drink. 

This was fine. Tony looked away when Winter looked at him over the rim of the cup. This… this was _fine_. 

***********

“What is a Rhodey?” 

It was a whole day later when Winter spoke next, appearing like a ghost next to Tony in the living room and waiting patiently while Tony went through the usual chest clutching, curse word blurting, shouting at JARVIS routine. 

“What is a Rhodey?” he asked again once things had calmed down, and Tony felt around for a water bottle, took a long drink to give his nerves a minute to calm and finally answered-- 

“A _Rhodey_ is my best friend. Colonel James Rhodes with the United States Air Force.” He finished the water and tossed it aside. “Tech and Weapons Liaison to Stark Industries, a bonafide full bird hero, an honest to god hottie and the only reason fifteen year old me survived MIT. He’s carried me out of bar, out of bar fights, out of situations I never should have got myself into and out of what was the worst few years of my life after my parents--” 

Tony sniffed, shook his head. “I keep waiting for him to give up on me but it hasn’t happened yet. I probably shouldn’t push my luck.” 

“You… love him.” Winter said slowly, almost uncertainly as if he wasn’t even sure if love was the right word. 

“I don’t deserve him.” Tony answered instead, tasted the self loathing thick at the back of his throat and then didn’t say anything else. 

The conversation dropped, Winter moved on from lurking in the living room, and from then on they just sort of… co-existed. 

Winter was _there_ all the time. Tony would turn around from a minor chore around the huge house and Winter was there. Tony would be grabbing a snack at some god awful hour of the night, crawling up from his lab exhausted and red eyed and desperately needing an influx of sugar and Winter was there. Falling asleep watching a movie and Tony would jerk to awareness because for some reason Winter was just _there_ sitting ram rod straight in a recliner and staring unblinking at the huge television screen. 

And after a week or so, Tony sort of got used to it. He got used to jumping and gasping when there was another body in his house. He got used to cursing and swearing up at JARVIS just for the AI to calmly and almost sarcastically suggest that perhaps Tony pay better attention to his surroundings if a rather large person could sneak up on him so easily. 

Tony got used to having someone else share his space and it was a soul searching _depressing_ reality check for just how lonely he really was if a weeks worth of sharing his house with a very scary, very mysterious ex-special forces or at least ex-special terrifying stranger was something he got used to so quickly. 

But Tony wasn’t willing to look too deep into just how lonely he really was, not this time of year, not during the holidays. 

So instead he started ordering food for two and just shoving it at Winter when he inevitably showed up in the kitchen, hovering by the kitchen door. Tony grabbed a few extra pillows from one of the never used guest rooms and threw them on the couch in his room so when Winter popped up around what was probably bed time for normal people, he had a place to stretch out. 

Pepper didn’t approve. 

“Tony?!” Pepper’s voice pitched high in worry and almost hysteria the first time she caught Winter rocking that full combat gear look alongside his silver arm and always present arsenal of knives and at least one hand gun. “ _Tony_!” 

“Be honest, Pep.” Tony tore the cap off a bottle of root beer and then grabbed another and passed it to Winter. “Shacking up with scary Russian types is far from the worst thing you’ve ever caught me doing.” 

“Excuse us.” Pepper offered Winter a tight smile and then grabbed Tony’s arm and propelled him out of the den and into the kitchen. “Tony. What in the hell are you doing?” 

Tony shrugged, “It’s nice to have a roommate.”

“No no.” Pepper wagged a finger at him, making that pinched face she did when she was rapidly losing patience with him. “ _No_. Tony, you are always unfathomably destructive this time of year and while I cannot begin to imagine the depth of your grief, when I started working for you I promised to never judge you for how you handled things so long as--” 

“--I wasn’t purposefully compromising the integrity or worth of Stark Industries.” Tony finished and waved her off. “This isn’t that. I’m not doing that. I’m fine.” 

“Oh?” she challenged, hands on her hips and tapping one of those sky high heels on the floor impatiently. “Because letting a stranger move in unprompted during the few weeks when you are the most vulnerable doesn’t _seem_ like something a fine person would do. For God’s sake he’s wearing three different knives and a pistol! Do you even know who he is?” 

“No.” Tony shook his head, and cut off Pepper’s disbelieving shriek with a quick- “And neither does he! So it’s fine! It’s like double jeopardy!” 

“Okay.” Pepper pinched her nose and visibly tried for patience. “Okay Tony, you know damn well that this is not what double jeopardy means. Could you at least tell me how you came to be roommates with the most terrifying Russian I’ve ever seen in my life?” 

“I came home from that Hammer-Tech party last week or the week before and he was sitting on my bed holding a knife.” 

Pepper’s green eyes practically flashed fire and Tony was quick to dart forward and grab both her hands, smooch a kiss to her cheek and practically beg, “Pep, I promise I’m okay.” 

“You are _not_ okay.” 

“I’m not okay.” he admitted quietly. “But this is better than being alone, alright? You and Rhodey always say I’m not alone but when it comes right down to it, I sort of am. And that’s my fault.” He nodded when she tried to interrupt. “It’s my fault, I keep you at arm’s length and especially around Christmas I get all drinky and--” 

He made a vague motion. “--sleep deprived and terrible. But I’m telling you, this is okay. I’m okay.” 

“How are you _possibly_ okay?” 

“Because it’s nice to not feel like the only lost person in the room.” Tony said softly, bluntly, inclined his head towards the door where Winter had shown up and was clearly waiting, watching. “He could have killed me, Pep. But instead he sat on my bed and admitted he basically knew nothing and you know, I know more than pretty much anyone I meet but right around Christmas I get to feeling like I don’t know anything either.” 

“Sometime I look at him and I feel like...” he scratched at his chin. “... I feel like maybe we’re not all that different and that’s a big deal for me.”

“...okay.” Pepper finally nodded and wrapped her arms around Tony’s shoulders, pulling him into a long hug. “I don’t understand in the least but I’m willing to let it go for now. But if he murders you, you need to call me immediately.” 

“I will definitely call you immediately if he murders me.” It was a grotesque joke, but Tony laughed at it anyway and kissed her cheek again. “Thank you.” 

“Be careful?” 

“No promises.” Tony’s smile wavered and fell away. “It is December, after all.” 


	2. Winter

The man Stark reminded Winter of twilight. 

Not the way the voice in his head droned on about _Operation Twilight_ and how it would be the end of a dynasty, how history would think him a hero, how Winter could not fail, _failure is not an option soldier._

No, not Operation Twilight. But twilight like when it’s not quite day but not quite night, not quite morning but still far past midnight. Twilight, when the stars were barely beginning to shine and there was a hint of sun in the sky and everything was shadowy and cold and _secret_. 

Winter liked twilight. He liked the mystery of it and the anticipation, he liked the way the dark held him safe before the light exposed him and his scars and his violence to the day. Winter liked twilight and he didn’t mind the shadows. He didn’t think he liked the cold. And he knew he didn’t like secrets but all he’d ever _known_ were secrets, from the words that brought him to waking to the men who called themselves his handler to the way his every action was meant to be unseen. 

Winter liked twilight and the man Stark was brilliant like stars and mysterious like shadows and the few times he smiled it was like the sun at the horizon and Winter liked it. 

_Operation Twilight._

Winter didn’t know that secret. But he knew they’d been the last words his brain registered as an _order_ before something had slipped. shifted and changed inside him. Then he hadn’t been Asset, he had suddenly been _Winter_ who wasn’t a whole person but was still different than the machine his handlers had unleashed on the innocents. 

Operation Twilight had been enacted, and the blocks of brainwashing and conditioning had faltered, every stitch of pain and hurt that had been dampened behind endless years of _cold_ roaring back to the front. 

Winter had felt it burning clear down to his core, to the pieces of a soul he hadn’t thought existed anymore. He had lurched, stumbled, hissed out a breath that was almost a groan and a man he knew was Evil had turned with narrowed eyes and a set jaw to watch him. 

‘ _That’s the most human I’ve ever seen him_.’ the man said. _‘I don’t like it. Wipe him and start again. Make sure the name Stark doesn’t register with him like it did in 91. We can’t risk any more mistakes._ ’

Stark and Operation Twilight, and this time for the first time the wiping hadn’t worked and Winter had grit his teeth and screamed through every buzz and blur and crackle _electric_ through his body. 

Winter didn’t know exactly what happened in 91, not beyond the rapid fire recitation of a mission that had taken place at twilight, a car and an empty road, a motorcycle and a plea to _help_. What had happened next on that road wasn’t like twilight, it was like _midnight_ , dark and terrifying as Winter’s conditioning had cracked as he stared down into a face that was almost familiar and he’d known for a few awful minutes that everything he was doing was _wrong wrong wrong._

Operation Twilight, and the name Stark meant something to him, the year 91 meant something to him and the man who smiled like hints of sunshine meant _something_ to him, Winter just didn’t know what. 

Not yet. 

Maybe not ever. 

“Christ!” Stark yelped and whipped around when he realized Winter was standing in the shadows of the garage. “ _Christ_! How long have you been there watching me?” 

Winter spread his hands vaguely. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there watching Stark work on one of the many cars lining the workshop walls, or how long he’d been only half listening to the too loud music blaring from hidden speakers. He only knew Stark reminded him of twilight and also--

\--also it was sort of _funny_ the way Stark put a hand to his chest all dramatically, or fluffed up his hair until it looked ridiculous when he was stressed, or how he scolded the various robots that circled and beeped at him as he took apart an engine. 

It reminded Winter of someone else he couldn’t remember. Someone small and feisty and cranky. Not as beautiful as Stark but beautiful all the same, and _that_ was a new thought. 

_Beauty_. 

“J, you’re officially fired.” Stark was saying up to the ceiling, eyes wild and hair wilder. “How many times are you going to let a super scary guy in bondage gear sneak up on me?” 

“ _Sir_.” the AI had taken some getting used to but after the first few days in the house, Winter had stopped jumping at the noise and the AI had stopped printing words on the wall. “ _I have told you over and over again, I detect no danger with our unexpected guest_.” 

“No danger.” Stark made a futile attempt to smooth his hair down. “Should we have a conversation about _why_ you don’t register danger with him? No offense Winter Solstice.’ he pointed a finger at Winter. “No offense. But seriously. _Seriously_ , J. What about Tall Dark and Stabby doesn’t register danger?” 

There was a beat of silence from the AI, and then-- _“Our guest wanders lost the same way you do after Colonel Rhodes or Ms Potts leaves and you remember you are lonely_.” 

“I--” Stark blinked up at the ceiling a few times, cheeks flushing dull red. “--well, just laying out my insecurities in front of everyone seems uncalled for. _Fuck_.”

“ _Language, sir_.” 

“Let’s just--” Stark scratched at his chin irritably. “--ignore everything the all seeing robot just said and talk about your habit of lurking, okay?” 

“Do I lurk, Stark?” Winter asked and Stark huffed, “I was rummaging for a late night snack a few nights and almost had a heart attack because you were standing next to the fridge. Then you do that ultra creepy thing where you sit in the recliner and just stare? If that’s not lurking, then what the hell is it?” 

“...I don’t know.” 

“No, of course you don’t.” There was no censure in Stark’s voice, no irritation, not even a hint of impatience and perhaps the words weren’t kind but they weren’t _mean_ and it felt good like balm on Winter’s slowly thawing heart. 

“Okay here it is.” Stark seemed to make up his mind about...something. “First of all, why don’t you call me Tony? No one calls me Stark. It’s either Mr. Stark or Dr. Stark or if you’re Justin Hammer, you’re one Anthony away from getting a stink bomb shoved in your face. But not Stark. We’re roomies, so call me Tony.” 

“...Tony.” Winter said soft and nearly hoarse, and Tony’s face flushed red all over again. _Interesting_. “...Tony… Anton. Anton suits you better.” 

“Anton.” Tony swallowed a few times. “Sure that’s-- weirdly hot Russian changing my name in a super sexy accent. Sure. Totally fine.” 

Winter just _looked_ at him and Tony wet his lips, turned a little brighter pink and finally blurted, “Look, I’ve seen enough scary movies to know right now I’m probably the main character in what’s going to turn into a slasher film, but until we get to the point where you go all activated sleeper cell on me, maybe you lurk while wearing normal clothes.” 

“Normal clothes.” Winter glanced over his all black ensemble, the heavy vest that protected him from bullets that would only bruise on impact anyway, the straps that held his left arm secure so it didn’t hang so heavy, the pockets that usually held ammo or an extra knife. “What’s wrong with my clothe?.” 

“Nothing.” Tony shrugged. “The all black look is actually excellent on your muscles but it’s doing very unhealthy things to my blood pressure, so let’s get you regular stuff.” 

“Regular stuff.” Winter repeated. “I will not fit in your clothes, _сумерки_.” _Twilight_ , the nickname slipped out unconscious but it felt right on Winter’s tongue, more than Tony or Anton did. _Twilight_ for the man that had let Winter _stay_. 

“I don’t know what you said at the end there, but I liked it.” Tony had a way of talking that was almost flirtatious and it made Winter’s heart pound just a little bit. “And yeah, there’s no way you’ll fit my stuff but I’ve got some of Happy’s things that might work. What size are you?” 

“I--” 

“--don’t know. Right, you don’t know. I shouldn’t have even asked.” Tony put his tools down and wiped grease on his pants before motioning for Winter to come closer. “Come on, out of the shadows, Snowflake. Let’s see what we’re working with here. Are you all muscle or is there a layer of pokeable tummy under the tactical vest?” 

“Are you always this way with people who break into your home?” Winter wanted to know, standing perfectly still while Tony walked around him, eyeing his frame and raising brows at the gleam of Winter’s left arm. 

“Trust me, gifting clothes to assassin-slash-intruders isn’t even the most self destructive behavior I’ve engaged in this year.” Tony reached out and rapped at Winter’s left shoulder. “Does this hurt?” 

“Yes.” It didn’t hurt, it _ached_ clear into Winter’s core, lay heavy over his heart and pulled at his chest muscles. His walk was stilted because of the weight, his jaw clenched with the effort of simply balancing, the piece hardwired into his very nerves by scientists that saw him as a machine with parts instead of a man whose ability to _feel_ had been stripped away. 

“Yes.” he said and Tony eyes dimmed in sadness and maybe sympathy. “It-- hurts.” 

“I might be able to do something about that.” The curious sweep of Tony’s fingers over the cool metal limb was the closest thing to _soft_ Winter had ever felt. “If you want, I mean. How did you get it? I’m pretty much at the forefront of tech for soldiers-- you are a soldier, right? Can’t think of any other reason you’d be--” a vague gesture over Winter’s body. “-- rippling with muscles and also wearing cargo pants, seriously how many pockets do you need?” 

It was nice that Tony wasn’t scared of him, though something told Winter that the pretty brunette should be _very_ scared of him, Operation Twilight was meant to end in blood, Winter knew that even if he didn’t know how Tony connected to twilight beyond the stars in his eyes.

_It was meant to end in blood and Tony should be frightened._

“You didn’t hear what I said?” Tony asked, and Winter had to force himself to stop staring at glimmers of gold deep in the brown eyes. “You’re a soldier, right?” 

_Engage and destroy, soldier. One day they’ll call you a hero._

“Yes.” Winter caught Tony’s hand as it passed up his shoulder again. “Anton. _Сумерки_. I was a soldier, but I am not a soldier anymore.” 

“Nope, now you’re my roomie.” Tony squeezed idly at Winter’s fingers and then let go as if he couldn’t tell that Winter’s entire body had lit up from the inside out over the simple touch. “And _roomie_ , I think I can do something about your arm and how it hurts you. Did you know I tinker in robotics? I’ve been working on something of a prosthesis and I mean, I built it to be a weapon but it could very easily be a….”

Tony’s voice faded out as Winter just kept staring into his eyes, chasing gold flecks like sunshine and stars. 

_Twilight_ , and Winter thought it was maybe the best moment he could ever imagine.

*******

Happy’s clothes didn’t fit Winter very well. The pants were too big in the waist and too short at the ankles, the shirts too long in the arms and splitting around his shoulders. Tony laughed and laughed the first time he saw Winter in the outfit, and that alone was worth being uncomfortable in the different materials because Tony hardly ever laughed, and it was a very good sound. 

Tony was sad all the time. Winter _knew_ that feeling, he knew sadness and he knew Tony was sad all the time. But anytime Ms. Potts talked to him, anytime he got a phone call or one of those reporters with their microphones and notebooks and cameras came to talk, Tony smiled and pretended like he wasn’t sad and Winter didn’t know why no one else never saw through him. 

It wasn’t a very good disguise-- sunglasses and fancy clothes and fast talking. It wasn’t a very good disguise over Tony’s sadness and loneliness but every one seemed to fall for it and Winter didn’t understand _why_. 

Tony spent all day doing nothing, but the nothing he did always seemed to keep him very busy. He was never still, not even when he was quiet and reading, even then a foot was tapping or finger picking or eyes shifting from his book to the television to the window, over Winter and then back to the book again. He tinkered in the garage downstairs and talked excitedly about everything new he was doing even though Winter couldn't begin to hope to understand. Tony focused intently on his food, waving his hands and talking about the different textures and how old he was when he tried that particular thing for the first time and how his Mama--

\--how his Mama--

\--Tony couldn’t ever pretend when he talked about his Mama. He couldn’t hide the sadness or act as if the thing keeping him busy meant anything at all. 

“She was beautiful.” he would say, cutting off whatever topic had brought the memory off and hanging his head. “She was beautiful.” 

“I’m sorry.” Winter would say then, and Tony would shake his head. 

“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” 

But Winter was sorry anyway, because he didn’t know what had happened to Tony’s Mama but he sre wished he could change it. 

Some times late at night when twilight hovered at the edges of their hours, Tony would drink and talk. Sometimes he stood on the balcony over looking the ocean and talked out towards the waves, sometimes it was in bed as he stared up at the dark ceiling when he couldn’t sleep, sometimes it was just over dinner as he picked at his food and couldn’t seem to make himself eat. 

And maybe Tony knew Winter was there listening to him talk about his Mama and the accident and how badly he hated the holidays...and maybe not. Maybe Tony thought he was alone and pouring out his grief to an uncaring house, maybe he was hoping Winter would move forward and offer some sort of comfort but Winter didn’t know how to do that, he didn’t know how to _comfort_ so instead he just listened and Tony talked until twilight passed and the morning found them both haggard. 

One night closer to the solstice when Tony’s drinking left him slurring and slumped in a chair, when even his fingers were still and his eyes closed, when he was mumbling something about piano playing and how he wished he would have kept up on it and how the piano in the living room wasn’t his Mama’s because Tony had broken that one, he’d _smashed_ that one, he had destroyed it after the police had come and told him the news--

\--it wasn’t his Mama’s piano but it looked just like hers and sometimes that was enough. Somedays that was enough. 

One night, that night, Tony moved over on the couch and uncapped another bottle and asked listlessly, quietly, “Winter. Come sit with me? I know you’re standing there and most--most time I’m too embarrassed to ask you to sit with me but I’m so damn tired of being alone. I’m so tired of being _alone_.” 

_Alone_ was a word Winter knew too. It was there with loneliness and with cold and with shadows, so he moved to sit by Tony as quickly as he could, moved in his ill fitting shirt and borrowed pants and picked up Anton’s hand with his right simply so they each had something to hold on to. 

And Tony leaned into Winter, curled into his side like he’d never been held and whispered soft and broken, “They always say it’s darkest before the dawn, they say twilight is supposed to be a time of meditation but all I know is that this time of night is when my demons come screaming the loudest.” 

Winter was quiet, his own demons running round his mind in the form of orders of words like _longing_ and _one_ and _freight car,_ shadows and cold and pain. 

“Do you hear them?” Tony whispered, caught over a sob, curled tighter into Winter’s arms and hid his face. “Do you hear all the bad things screaming that I’m the worst thing in the room?” 

“No, Anton.” Winter didn’t understand comfort, he didn’t understand how to be gentle, but he tried to be gentle now, reaching careful careful with his left hand to sweep through Tony’s hair, to brush tears from alcohol flushed cheeks, pitching his voice low and not so scary, “No, _сумерки_. There are no things screaming. Only you and me here, and I--” he swallowed. “--I think you’re beautiful. And good.” 

“I think you’re beautiful too.” Tony went limp, his slight weight not even registering in Winter’s arms. “And I’m not good. I’m not. But I’ll settle for not being alone anymore. Will you stay with me?” 

And after a moment, “I know you don’t have anywhere else to go. Me asking you to stay when you don’t have anywhere else to go is stupid. But I’d really fucking love it if you told me you wanted to stay, even if it’s a lie.” 

“I want to stay. _”_ Winter wasn't lying, he wasn’t sure if he could lie, but he wasn’t lying now. “Сумерки, I want to stay with you.” 

“What’s that word?” Tony was slurring more now, slipping towards sleep. “What’s that you’re calling me?” 

Winter hesitated and hesitated and Tony shook his head, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. You don’t say it like you’re disappointed in me, and that’s enough. That’s enough.” 

_Enough_ , so Winter stayed there and held Tony as he slept, reveled in the chance to hold some one soft, to hold someone trusting. Operation Twilight was meant to end in blood but _сумерки_ Anton was beautiful and good, even if he was sad. 

Winter still didn’t know why the name Stark meant something to him, but he knew why Tony meant something to him and that was enough. 

_That was enough._

_************_

**_Chapter Notes:_ **

_I have this Thing about Bucky seeing stars in Tony's eyes ever since the TFA series and OH LOOK here's another chance for me to dig into that trope!_

_*сумерки * is twilight/dusk in Russian and frankly, I think its an adorable nickname for this verse._

_Tony is so sad in this ughhhhhhh I'm remembering why I changed the tone a little bit for Lost and Found!_


	3. Chapter 3

After the solstice came and went, Tony seemed to do better. 

“Sorry.” he said one morning, quietly, awkwardly as he poured a measure of whiskey into his coffee. “I uh-- this time of the year is pretty rough on me. I spiral real bad around the 16th and it takes about a week to get through it but I should be better now.” 

“This is all I know you as.” Winter accepted his own coffee-and-whiskey and and wrapped his metal fingers around the mug, watched the steam rise above the rim and didn’t feel a single hint of heat in his palm. “Are you usually different?” 

“I--” Tony hesitated, took a sip and hesitated again. “--no. I guess not. I am always some version of exactly this. How terrible I am just depends on what day of the week it is.” 

Silence at the kitchen table, and then Winter-- “I don’t think you are terrible, _сумерки_.”

“You barely know me.” Tony added more whiskey to his coffee, forced out a loud exhale. “I’m generally the worst person in the room.” 

“Who has told you these things?” 

_Hesitation_. 

“...I guess I’ve always said them to myself. Huh.” 

********

First it was _loud_ in the Malibu house, music cranking in the garage and the speakers through out the house, televisions blaring even if no one was in the room, movie volume up too high. 

But then it was quiet as Tony replaced canned noise with slow conversation, as Winter learned to move past the mental block of _silence, soldier_ to talk and comment and engage. 

The music was turned down so Tony could talk Winter through whatever he was doing for the hundredth time on one of his favorite cars. The televisions clicked off when Winter realized the news footage of unrest and crime made _dread_ crawl up his spine and slow his steps and he didn’t know why certain names and locations gave him a headache, but he didn’t like it, so the televisions stayed _off_. 

Movie nights became less about Tony needing the constant noise to lull him to sleep and more about him explaining the nuances of the sometimes admittedly terrible movies from the 80’s, the ones he and Rhodey had watched on repeat, the ones that became cult classics, the ones that held references people still used in every day conversations. 

Winter hadn’t seen any of them, didn’t understand half the humour, but Tony’s eyes shone like stars when he laughed and first it only happened occasionally but then it happened every night and that was beautiful. 

First Tony moved in wide circles around Winter, unless the ex-soldier ended up too close too quickly and startled him, at which point Tony shrieked and clutched at his chest and swore up at JARVIS for not alerting him. 

But then they gravitated _nearer_ , orbiting each other like stars and finally breaking the circle and crashing close because the house was huge and empty and lonely but Winter was warm despite his rather frosty moniker and Tony was cold despite his flashy clothes and expensive accessories and when they sat next to each other, both were somehow _comfortable_. 

Tony usually reserved physical affection for people he knew loved him, which meant physical affection had all but ceased from his life now that Rhodey’s Ma had passed and the Colonel himself was always gone and busy. Some days he thought Pepper wouldn’t mind a hug but other days she arched those perfect brows and glared so Tony didn’t ask. 

He didn’t ask Winter either, not after that first plea to sit with him so he didn’t have to listen to the demons alone. Tony didn't _have_ to ask Winter. After that first time, Winter was just there. He was just there right next to Tony during the movies, warm and solid and well able to take Tony’s weight when the alcohol and running himself emotionally ragged caught up and overtook him. 

He was just there at the kitchen table and first Tony used to sit across from him but then Tony started sitting _next_ to him, and then up against him so their thighs brushed and elbows knocked and at some point their hands linked and at first it was...at first it was _easy_ because for whatever reason, Winter and Tony fit together like two puzzle pieces shaken from the same broken box. 

Winter was _there_ and one time when he scared the hell out of Tony by walking up alongside him in the hall, Tony whirled around and jabbed a finger into a rock hard pectoral and snapped, “Last warning, Sneaky Pete! You keep creeping on me like this and I will attach bells to you, do you understand? Bells.” 

“...bells?” 

“Yeah, try sneaking up on me when you sound like Santa’s reindeer jingle fucking jangling along the way.” 

“I--” Winter frowned in confusion. “What?” 

Tony made good on his promise no less than eight hours later when he stepped into the bedroom to change into jammy pants for the night, then turned back around and screamed himself half hoarse when Winter materialized on the couch behind him. 

“I warned you.” Tony wheezed, hand to his heart and eyes comically wide. “I _warned_ you. Prepare to be belled.” 

...first Tony thought Winter would refuse to wear the bells but then the next morning he heard _thump-jingle-thump-jingle-thump-jingle_ all the way down the stairs and by the time Winter arrived, Tony was leaning against a table laughing until tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

Jingle Bells played on repeat that day and Winter walked with a hint more swagger just to make sure the bells tinkled loudly and Tony’s smile lit up like the sunrise. 

First Christmas felt like a sham, felt like a production with the team that had been hired to expertly decorate the Malibu house with carefully coordinated colors and artfully arranged wreaths and looping strands of classic white lights. 

“I hate this so much.” Tony flicked at the head of a beautifully artistic angel on a shelf. “There’s so much white and then all these red poinsettias and bows-- it’s like snow and--” 

“--blood.” the leaves of a poinsettia plant _crushed_ in Winter’s grip. “It’s like snow and blood.” 

“My December memories have enough snow and blood as it is.” Tony scrubbed at his face and then swept everything off the shelf and into the trash with a quick push. “Here’s a sentence I never thought I’d say, but would you like to go Christmas decoration shopping with me?” 

“Christmas is _tomorrow_.” 

“I do my best work under insane deadlines.” Tony shrugged and then held out his hand. “Whad’ya say, Frosty? Wanna find some Yuletide cheer?” 

First Christmas felt like a sham, but then Tony and Winter emptied the nearest store of every Christmas decoration still left on the shelf and suddenly the holiday felt festive and funny and downright _tacky_ because every decoration left was off brand characters and light up, blow up monstrosities that loomed twelve feet tall in the foyer and obnoxious singing snowmen that buzzed and hummed along to tinny, slightly off tune carols. 

It was terrible and garish and hilarious, and when Winter murmured, “ _сумерки_.” and held his hand out for Tony, they fell into the same recliner and sipped hot chocolate to the tune of all the awful songs clashing together as every single one of their musical decorations played at the same time. 

“This might be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” Tony admitted tiredly at some point, and Winter brushed gentle fingers along Tony’s shoulder and then rubbed his stubbled cheek into the thick hair. “I feel like that should be depressing but instead I’m just relieved. It’s nice to be sober on Christmas Eve. Sober and not-- not dreading tomorrow alone. I’m glad you’re here.” 

There were no presents under the tree the next morning, but Tony stirred from his spot sleeping cramped in the recliner against Winter and ordered breakfast delivery before curling back in and closing his eyes. 

First it was maybe a little awkward to both be awake and still holding each other, but then it was just _nice_. It was just comfortable. It was Winter shifting so he could tuck Tony over his heart and Tony wrapping both arms around Winter’s waist and it wasn’t about being squashed up against someone _attractive_ , it was about being squashed up against someone who has content to hold and be held and it was _nice_. 

They spent most of Christmas day not bothering to move until visitors came by. 

First it was Colonel James Rhodes who showed up in his dress uniform, snappy and handsome and _thoroughly_ disapproving of finding Tony wrapped around someone undeniably dangerous. 

“Rhodey.” Tony popped up from Winter’s side and Winter didn’t like that, but he liked how Tony melted into a hug in Rhodey’s arms, so he let it go. 

“Hey, let’s talk about why you’re getting comfy with the guy who’d come in last at a Santa look alike contest.” The Colonel whispered, dropping a kiss on Tony’s cheek and then feeling absentmindedly but pointedly down over Tony’s ribs to see how much weight his friend had lost this season, how bad grief had taken it’s toll on Tony’s health. 

He should have been around more but first it had been his job and then it had been family stuff that kept him busy and sometimes it had been Tony telling him ‘don’t come by, I’m fine’. He should have been around more this season, but it didn’t take long at all to realize that maybe this was the closest to _fine_ Tony had ever been at Christmas time and it was clearly the not-Santa guy doing it.

“If by _come in last_ , you mean he’s ridiculously hot and unfairly muscly and sort of…” Tony oophed when Rhodey jabbed him in the ribs. “... ouch. I was going to say he’s sort of growly. If that’s what you mean by _come in last_ , then yeah, he’s basically the anti-Santa. But I like him.” 

“Tony.” 

“And he’s not the worst person you’ve walked in on me with.” Another jab in the ribs, another theatrical oooph. “Plus I’m sober today so--” 

“--so I won’t kick your ass for being crazy.” The Colonel decided. “I love you, Tones.” 

“I love you too.” 

That night Pepper called from her vacation spot somewhere warm and tropical and Tony talked to her for most of an hour. 

First it was fine as Tony laughed with Pepper about how he hadn’t actually seen her Christmas Bonus but he was sure he’d been very generous, and how she may or may not marry someone on the island and just live beneath palm trees forever. 

But then it was sad, Tony’s smile drooping at the corners as Pepper talked about how they needed to work to repair his actions during the holiday season, how they needed to send apology letters to a few people but it’s okay, she’d take care of it, how Tony would really benefit from talking to a counselor and Pepper loved him so much and she would even be willing to go with him--

The phone crushed between Winter’s fingers, and not even his silver fingers, his _right_ hand tightened around the device and splintered it to unrecognizable pieces and Tony stared down at the mess in shock, and then up at Winter and whispered, “What-- why?” 

“ _Сумерки_ you are supposed to be shining like stars, not sad like…” _shadows_. “Not sad.” Winter brushed the pieces off into the trash can and then turned on one of the dancing candy canes as he passed. “Do you want to watch the Elf movie?” 

“It’s such a terrible movie.” Tony huffed a laugh, but his smile was tremulous and his eyes watery. “Winter, Pep loves me. She wasn’t being mean.” 

“But you were sad.” 

“Well yeah but--” Tony tried for a laugh again. “But the phone-- you didn’t have to--” 

“You were sad.” Winter said, because he saw the world in shades of gray and Tony’s smile was the only thing that looked like _color_ and when he was sad, even that little bit of sunshine went away. “I don’t want you to be sad, Anton.” 

“There’ll be no tears on Christmas, right?” Tony asked, and it was a line from the Grinch movie he’d made Winter sit through a few nights ago. “It’s fine, Winter I just um--” he swallowed. “I didn’t notice how bad I needed someone to make that decision for me.” 

“What decision?” 

“To hang up when I can’t handle a conversation anymore.” Tony smiled, and then tried harder and gave Winter a real smile. “C’mon, I’ll start the movie.” 

First it was Christmas and then it was that odd space _after_ Christmas where the holiday was over but New Years wasn’t close enough to plan for. Tony was sober more than he was drunk now, mostly because it seemed like Winter couldn’t even get tipsy, partly because he slept just fine after watching endless amounts of cheesy Christmas movies curled up in Tall Dark and Still Wearing Happy’s Shirts arms. 

“You need clothes.” Tony decided and first Winter wanted to object but then Tony showed him how they could order just about everything on line and not have to leave the Malibu house that had become something of a sanctuary from the shadows and the cold outside, and he was okay with that.

The clothes were delivered later that same day by some sleek van and well dressed couriers who unloaded everything in the foyer and left with cheery smiles, and then Winter spent the rest of the day in fitted jeans and a long sleeve red henley that made Tony turn and look and look and _look_. 

Winter liked twilight and he liked when his _сумерки_ looked and he liked when his _сумерки_ smiled because _Winter_ was looking. 

“This is nice.” Tony plucked at the red henley, then pushed it up so the gleam of Winter’s left arm shone bright. “So’s this. Don’t hide it.” 

“This is nice.” Winter gently gently, almost tenderly as if he knew what it meant to be tender, tipped Tony’s chin up and swept his thumb over a lush bottom lip until Tony’s smile lit up again. “Don’t hide it.” 

“It’s the weirdest thing.” Tony flicked one of the bells at Winter’s belt and blushed over the compliment. “Sometimes when you talk you don’t sound Russian, you sound almost Brooklyn. What’s that about?” 

...and Winter’s eyes flickered uncertainly. “... I don’t know.” 

**************

Obadiah Stane was not welcome in the Malibu house. 

Well, he was, at first. First he was welcome because he was Tony’s advisor and mentor and closest thing to a father figure still around. But then he was unwelcome because he only arrived before New Years to talk to Tony about something called Jericho and because he stared at Winter unafraid and almost knowing and Winter stared right back because he didn’t _like_ Obadiah. 

He was not welcome into the refuge they’d created together, not welcome to lean so far into Tony’s space or to smile like that from behind a big cigar. He stirred something cold and awful in Winter’s chest, made his fingers itch for the knives and gun he left in their room, made Winter almost growl when Obadiah put a heavy arm around Tony’s shoulders and hauled him in for a hug. 

“Jericho is my last project.” Tony said later, after Obadiah had left and ~~threatened~~ promised to call Tony soon. “First it was just an idea, but then Obie pushed it and I think it can be really amazing. Or you know--” a quick shrug. “-- devastating. I don’t know. Designing weapons means creating things no one really thinks is beautiful.” 

“I’m going to sell it.” Tony said later, after Winter had finally relaxed enough to eat and they sat thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table. “Put it out into the world and then I’m done. I just want to work on my cars and eat good food the rest of my life. They call it the twilight years, right? After someone has lived all they can live and then they get to bask in the glory of their life?” 

“Twilight years.” Tony said later, after they’d gone to bed and Winter had flopped down on his side of the bed, and Tony didn’t really remember when they’d started _sharing_ a bed, first it had been a night when it stormed before the solstice and then it was just… every night, and he liked it. “Who knew I’d accomplish everything I would be good for by forty two?” 

“I don’t like Obadiah.” Winter rolled to his side and wrapped his left arm loosely around Tony’s waist. “I’m sorry.” 

“No reason to be sorry, it’s not your fault.” Tony pressed tighter, pillowed his head against the cool metal and dug his fingers into the only slightly softer muscle at Winter’s side. “...sometimes I don’t like him too. At first he was family but lately… lately I feel like he looks at me the same way I look at my favorite snack.” 

“....hungry?” 

“Ravenous.” Tony turned the lights off and stared out the windows at the gleam of stars in the twilight sky. “Like he wants to devour me and then throw what’s left in the trash.” 

*************

It was New Years Eve and Tony filled two flutes with champagne and offered one to Winter. 

“I think you saved me this last month, Frosty.” He smiled at the near hilarity of the fragile champagne flute held so carefully in Winter’s oversized hands. “Who knew a knife wielding Russian in bondage gear was an angel in disguise?” 

“Angel of death, maybe.” Winter tried to smile like his nightmares hadn’t been getting worse lately. “Not one that wears a halo.” 

“It should frighten the hell out of me when you say things like that.” Tony laughed out loud, and Winter loved it. “But now that I’ve seen you wearing jingle bells, you’ll never be scary again.” 

“I’m glad I don’t frighten you, _сумерки_.” Winter answered softly, and Tony cocked his head, “Seriously, what are you saying right there? What does that word mean?”

And just as quickly, “Nevermind. I stand by my first statement-- so long as you’re saying it nice, I want you to keep saying it.” 

He lifted his champagne and offered a cheers. “Here’s to the New Year, right? 2007 wasn’t great, but 2008 has to be better. It’s already a little better so long as you’re going to...stay…?” 

The words trailed off into a question, hopeful brows raised and Winter nodded, fit his palm to the back of Tony’s neck and brought him in close enough for their foreheads to touch, listening to his Anton’s breath hitch in an echo of his own. 

“ _я останусь с тобой_. I will stay with you, Anton.” 

First their lips met only barely, chaste and fleeting, there and gone again because it only seemed right when they were so close, when twilight was fading to midnight and the entire world was waiting for a new chance in the new year. 

First the kiss was only barely but then Tony breathed a soft kiss and whispered, “Winter, don’t leave me--don’t let me stay _lost_ \--” 

And then...

...and then...

……

……

……

… … Thousands of miles East of the Malibu home where Winter and Tony were learning, only _learning_ what it meant to leave the shadows to risk a kiss beneath the stars, a blond man sat alone in a small, nearly sparse apartment, head bent over a desk full of files and pictures and numbers, eyes red from hours of reading and mouth pulled down into a frown. 

It was a New Year outside, but that meant nothing to him. 

What was a New Year when he was missing almost seventy? 

It was a New Year outside and the fireworks made him flinch, made him grimace. He’d never liked fireworks before and now it only sounded like war. They said the good guys had won _that_ war, they said his sacrifice had mattered and helped but how could that be when here he was alone another night reading files about weapons that were capable of mass destruction and a war that had no clear end in sight? 

Nobody cared about the New Year, least of all him. 

“I knew I’d find you here.” the apartment door opened and closed, and he looked up at the redhead that had first been his handler, then his confidante and finally his _friend_ as he tried to navigate the world. 

“The entire planet is partying and the All American Man is here studying.” Natasha Romanoff had the sort of smile that reminded him of knives, sharp and pointed and entirely dangerous if he ever let down his guard. “How predictable.” 

“Hi, Tasha.” he smiled a little bit and she smiled right back. “How are you? How’s Fury? Are we getting anywhere with our file into Stane?” 

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” She tossed her coat onto a chair and pulled out a file of her own. “You’re the one obsessing about the Jericho project, what have you found out?” 

“Nothing.” he rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “Everything is linked to Tony Stark, but nothing is linked to Tony Stark all at the same time. Obadiah is the common factor in everything that looks even slightly suspicious, it’s almost like Tony’s name is on there as a stamp, not an acknowledgment of what’s happening.” 

“That’s good?” she offered. “You were pretty worried that Howard’s kid had grown up corrupt, if it’s just his slightly creepy advisor, you don’t have to worry about it.” 

“The Jericho _is_ something we should worry about.” he motioned to the pictures. “If this weapon falls into the wrong hands, it could be the end of anything stable in the world. And from the footage and audio files Fury’s brought me, it seems like someone within Stark Industries is angling to _purposefully_ get it into the wrong hands. Things just aren’t adding up and I don’t know why.” 

“Maybe math has changed since the forties?” Tasha suggested, and got another one of those little smiles for her effort. “But listen, if you’re convinced Tony Stark doesn’t have anything to do with what Stane is doing, then you and I need to talk about something else.” 

“I don’t think I can handle thinking about--” 

“Captain!” Natasha raised her voice and the blond looked up in confusion and irritation. “Captain, _please_.” 

“Alright fine.” Steve Rogers, Captain America, recently defrosted super soldier and man out of time, blew out a deep breath and motioned for the file. “Give it here.” 

“Before I give you this…” Natasha hesitated, and hesitated again, and Steve’s heart plummeted to somewhere near his toes. “Before I give you this, I want you to know that neither Fury or I knew anything about it, alright? If we had, we would have--we would have done something. I swear it.” 

“...what is it?” he asked softly, and she answered just as softly, “You’ve been distracted by Obadiah and not focusing on Tony and in the last month things have changed.” 

“ _What_ things?” 

“Steve.” Natasha turned the file over in her hands and took a deep breath. “We need to have a conversation about Tony Stark’s new boyfriend.” 

********

**Chapter Notes:**

_... the end...?_


End file.
